Select Poetry.

Thames Star, Volume XV, Issue 4970, 13 December 1884, Page 1

Select Poetry.

FLIES 15 TEEACLE,

Flies in a treacle pot I've viewed: Wings clogged and legs together glued— A sweet, but rather dangerous, place For flies—an inconsiderate race; Like men, those lords of the creation, Unable to resist temptation — Themselves no pleasure they deny, And for a luscious banquet die — How man human bipeds here Like flies for pleasures pay too dear, And fall (with troubles overcast), Into some treacle-pot at last. Some will in wine for pleasure seek, . And some in women vain and weak, Some on the course where horses race The fleeting phantom hotly chase; Others in money-making schemes, Begun with craft, to end like dreams; Some find their pleasures in a place Where vice unveils her brazen, face — 'Mid horrid sounds, and scenes unsightly, In feasts by day and revels nightly— Some in ambition, some in pride, In hatred some have pleasure tried; And some attired in gorgeous raiment, The pleasure mind, but not the payment; Deception all, and ia it not A fly-ensnaring treacle-pot ? We find (the trial is the test) That sweetest things are not the best, But those which we despise or waste, Exceeding nauseous to the taste, Will often cure our many ills, Though swallowed in the shape of pills: A sweet beginning I perpend Has often had a bitter end: Some pleasures which the heart enthral Are snares and sad delusions all— Though outward fair to cheat the sight/ Yet inwardly are rotten quite— When tempted from the path that leads The human soul to virtuous deedsHeed not the Siren lurking near, Although her voice enchants the ear; To all her blandishments be blind, Eeject them, leave them far behind; Not for a single moment wait, Decide, but never hesitate; Direct your steps to safe retreats, And not like flics be swamped in sweets. H.J.D.